


100 Midsomer Murders

by sevsgirl72



Category: Midsomer Murders
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevsgirl72/pseuds/sevsgirl72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Barnaby comes to realize how much he relies on having Gavin Troy in his life. </p><p>Each chapter complete unto themselves.</p><p>I needed inspiration so decided to fill an old prompt table from LJ. So, 100 prompts, 100 ficlets across 100 chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crash

**001\. Crash**

Tom blamed himself.

He’d had enough near misses in the last two years to know how Troy drove when everything was normal, but he should have known better when there was the potential that things were not as well as they seemed. And yet, he willingly slipped into the passenger seat while Troy took to the wheel. If it had been any other day, there wouldn’t have been any question, but today...

Tom blamed himself because he should have known better.

Midsomer Worthy.

The sign sent a torrid nausea coursing through him as they flew passed while leaving the village. Tom glanced at the man driving. Troy was still pallid and his hands were wrapped, white-knuckled, around the steering wheel.  The triple murder case they’d just wrapped up had been brutal, bloody, and almost fatal for his Sergeant. Tom balled his hands into fists, staying his hand from reaching out to the man. The glance had to be enough to reassure himself that his Sergeant was still there.

The case had been frustrating from the start. Witnesses refused to cooperate, evidence was tampered with, and while they caught the man in the end, it was a conclusion that he wanted to forget. Tom cursed at his own mind. He just couldn’t kept from returning to it. He could still see the sharp glinting blade pushing into Troy’s neck. The steady crimson beads that began to drip from under it. The worst were Troy’s eyes. That blue-grey gaze frantically wide-eyed, fearful, pleading with Tom’s to save him, but also waiting for direction. Trusting Tom to give him a sign. Trusting that Tom would know what to do.

The surge of blind fury that had coursed through him upon finding the vicar and Troy in this deadlock terrified him. Tom had always held that every person was capable of murder, but he’d never known his breaking point until today. In the late hours after interrogation and confessions he’d often wondered what it was that would push him over that line, what would make him give up all the sensible morals and law he held dear; now, he knew.

Forced into facing the possibility of a future without Gavin Troy, a future without the tall man stealing the last piece of toast off the table before heading to the station with that sheepish, awkward smile. A future without pub lunches in the middle of cases, bad driving, and those terrible ties. It was a future Tom never wanted to see, a future he would do anything not to see.

Tom wanted to kill the man holding Troy. Kill him for creating the possibility of such a grotesque future. With the rage came a protectiveness and, Tom admitted it to himself, staring into the stunned fearful eyes of his sergeant, love.

In the car, Tom turned his attention to the passing scenery, away from Troy and that word. The hills passed in a blurr much like the torment of thoughts and emotions inside him. The only firm, definitive, thing he could grasp a hold of was how utterly unthinkable a life without Troy was after being given a glimpse of it.

As Troy bombed out of village, more expertly than usual, putting himself and his DCI as far away from Midsomer Worthy in as short of time possible. Tom finally allowed himself to take further stock of his Sargeant. He couldn’t see the mark hidden beneath the man’s collar, but just knowing it was there, as the adrenalin of the situation and relief of seeing Troy in one piece had ebbed, left him exhausted and hollow.

What if he hadn’t been able to overpower the man? What if Troy had died there? What if he told Troy the truth? Tom knew these thoughts were dangerous, knew he could get swept up in the what-ifs. But instead he was saved from the questions and ifs when he was wrenched out of his reverie by a screeching halt and gears crunching into reverse.

Though Midsomer Worthy was behind them now, the village  and the whole topsy-turvy day seemed to tackle them again. An unexpected road block had appeared just around a bend, it hadn’t been there the day before. It was Troy’s attempt at a three point; he failed the second point and the car went boot first into a ditch. Troy managed to get out of the car, albeit awkwardly, falling onto his knees and ripped his new trousers.

“Sorry, sir!” Troy ran to the other side to help his DCI out. Although a little worse for wear, neither were hurt. Now, the pair stood side by side on the road staring down at the car. In a ditch, boot end first, and its front-end pointed up to the sky.

“Sorry, sir.” Troy repeated sheepishly.

“It’s called a break, Troy.” Tom said. At least they were in no hurry, the case was over and the only thing waiting for them back in Causton was paper work. “Best start off then.”

“You mean, we’re walking, sir?” Troy looked at his boss wide-eyed.

“No, Troy, we’ll sit here and twiddle our thumbs.” Tom grumbled and started off.

“Can’t we wait for a passer by, sir?” Troy asked, taking a couple quick strides to catch up to him. After Midsomer Worthy, he couldn’t think of anything worse than a trek across country to the nearest pub in the late spring heat; the beauty of the day in no way reflected his mood like he thought it should.

“Troy, we can do that just as well, as we walk. At least if no one comes, we won’t have wasted time.”

“Oh, right.” Troy said, and the two men set off. Gavin walked with downcast eyes. While driving, he’d been able to concentrate on something other than what he was feeling, but walking his thoughts were forced inward. The blade was a ghost at his neck, he felt it more now than when it had actually been there.

It was a nice day, but just a little on the hot side and Tom was divested himself of his jacket, and loosened his tie. He also rolled up his shirt sleeves and undid the top few buttons of his shirt.

Troy glanced at his boss’s movements, cataloguing each of them, distracting himself from the thoughts that had caused him to crash the car. Troy shrugged off his own jacket, tie and the buttons of his shirt leaving it open to the white tee underneath. He shoved his tie in his back pocket. It was nice to have it off his neck and lightly touched the wound that it had been hiding. Gavin shivered despite the heat.

Tom watched Troy peripherally. He wasn’t often worried about his Sargeant, most of the time their job seemed to roll off him, but this was a lot different. He could hear a car coming from behind them. Tom took hold of Troy’s arm and pulled him close to his side, closer to the edge of the road and away from danger.

Troy jerked out of his thoughts at the touch, but in time to feel the car fly past them. “Sir, I thought we had to flag a car down!”

“Come on, Troy,” Tom said. “You’ve driven this road for years.”

Troy looked around, saw a familiar bend in the road and smiled brightly. “Oh, look sir, the pub’s just around the corner.”

Tom swore the younger man did this on purpose usually, but not today. “Order us a pint and something to eat,” Tom ordered as they walked in the door. “I’ll call the station and arrange a tow.”  He also had to phone Joyce, to tell her not to bother with supper,  and to give her the quick version of events.

Troy ordered the pints and plowmans. Tom returned to find Troy outside at one of the tables, a pint waiting. The man had taken off his shirt and was sitting in a white short sleeve, his jacket, shirt and tie folded neatly beside him.

“Well Troy,” Tom said, sitting comfortably in the sun, thankful to see it with Troy. “There could have been worse days to crash.”

“Sorry, sir.” The two sat in silence until their food came.

“It was a bit harrowing, wasn’t it, sir.” Troy laughed nervously rubbing his throat. Tom could now see the cut from the knife, angry and red, that had been there only a few hours ago. It started bleeding again with Troy’s ministrations. Tom quickly reached across the table and pressed a handkerchief to the wound. Troy hissed at the pressure of the sure hands, but lifted his head to give Tom better access.

“You should have at least had it bandaged at the scene.” Under his finger’s Tom could feel Gavin’s heart racing.

“Too much to do afterward, sir.” Gavin reached up to take the handkerchief.

Tom let go of the makeshift poultice and sat back. He could also see the imprint of a hand, not his, still obvious. “You’ll have some nasty bruises.”

“Yes, sir.” Troy shifted away from his DCI. He was too aware of the man watching him closely now. Too aware of the shadow his dance with mortality left hanging over them. It felt like an arm was around his neck. The world began to feel like it was shrinking in around him.

Troy hastily excused himself to the toilets, locking himself in. His boss’s ministration had been kind and careful. A direct contrast to the touch he’d had hours before. He started shaking. Gavin collapsed against the wall and wrapped his arms around himself, tried to keep himself from shaking apart. Every muscle ached with the tense erratic movements. His knees gave way and he crashed to the floor while the tears streaked down his face unbidden.

Tom had watched his Sergeant walk away. The way the Troy’s heart had been racing and the pallor that had washed over his face was worrying. Though he knew he needed to give his DS time, Tom couldn’t help but keep checking his watch. When a PC arrived with a car and a tow, Tom checked his watch and glanced once more toward the direction Troy had left in. He’d been gone for a long while. Too long. Tom ordered the PC to wait.

“Troy?” Tom called out through the locked door as he knocked.

He heard a soft whimper.

“Gavin, unlock the door.” Tom ordered sternly, hoping it would break through to Troy. He had an idea of the emotions that were bombarding Troy, but while Tom had, for better or worse, always been the suffer in silence type, there was no state he could find Troy in that would make him think any less of the younger man; not after today.

He heard the click of the lock, but the door didn’t open. He pushed slowly and Gavin was leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly against his chest. For such a tall man, he suddenly looked small.

“Sorry Sir.” Troy stuttered out through clenched teeth, refusing to look up to meet his DCI's eyes.

“No more ‘sorry sirs’ Gavin.” Tom said. “Not today.”

Tom grasped Gavin’s upper arms, he could feel the tremors wracking through Troy.  Gavin unfurled his arms and grasp at Tom’s shirt. His hand fisted the fabric, both pushing the man away and pulling him forward. Trying to find purchase to hold on to himself. The battle his sergeant was fighting, was going to destroy him.

“Gavin. It’s all right,.” Gavin’s eyes finally met his just before his legs gave out on him and he fell into Tom. Gavin’s hand clung to Tom’s shirt, clawing to save himself, grasping for life. The weight of his sergeant was too much to handle and they slid to the floor. Tom wrapped his arms tightly around Gavin.

Tom was unsure of how long they sat there, but the weight of his Sergeant, slowly lessened as the tension began to evaporate from his body. Tom eventually let one arm drop, but kept the other around Gavin’s shoulder. The contact filled that terrifying void left by the potential loss of this man he’d come to rely on so very much.

“Sir?!” A voice called out from behind the door, it was a PC. “We brought you a car.”

Tom whispered to Troy to stay there while he dealt with the car.

Gavin watched Tom walk out to meet the PC, he felt warm, not from the embarrassment or shame he was expecting, but from the understanding.

When Tom came back in, Gavin was washing his face at the sink.

“Alright, now?”

“I think so.”

Tom gave him a smile. “I’ll drive.”


	2. Dim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin Troy delivers some bad news

** 002\. Dim **

Gavin turned onto the street toward the Barnaby’s home. In the dim dusk light, the house glowed in invitation, but he still felt apprehensive. Would he be welcomed? It wasn’t as if he didn’t arrive there most mornings to pick up his DCI and steal a bit of toast, yet he knew his arrival tonight was of a different ilk. Tonight, he was bring death with him.

Death was not unusual in his presence at the Barnaby house, but this was not one of their grisly murder. This was personal. Gavin had taken the call at the station just before leaving for the evening. The woman on the other end identified herself as a communications offices with Scotland Yard. She was looking for Barnaby. He’d taken the message, telling her he’d deliver the news himself. Gavin had stopped to pick up a bottle of whiskey to lighten the blow.

Gavin parked in the driveway behind Tom’s Jaguar and shut off the car. He paused for a moment to take a deep breath. He’d delivered bad news to countless families, but this was his family now.

“Troy,” Tom answered the door. “What ever are you doing here?”

“Do you mind if I come in, Sir? I have some, well, not good news.”

Tom looked at him in question before moving aside and letting the taller man enter the house. Tom directed him into the lounge and they both sat down. Gavin set the whiskey down on the table.

“What is it Troy?”

“Well, Sir, a woman from the MET called. Your old DCI? He passed away this afternoon.” Gavin said it all in a rush. “Sorry.”

Tom disappeared for a moment only to return with two tumblers for the whiskey. Tom opened the bottle and poured them both a large amount. Gavin took the one offered him, and Tom held his own up.

“To DCI Gordon Routhe.”

“To DCIs” Gavin said softly clinking their glasses.

The pair sat up through the night with Tom regaling Gavin on the trials and tribulations of being a DS in London. Gavin recognized some of the stories and feelings from his own years as Tom’s DS. The precariousness of life was frighteningly clear in a moment between sips. Gavin paused mid laughter and stared at Tom worriedly. Gavin had a sudden recognition of a dim, but inevitable, future in which Barnaby would no longer exist. Tom seemed to understand and smiled sadly at Gavin, lifting his glass once more and Gavin followed.

“To Detective Sergeants.”


	3. Futile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom wonders if it futile walking away, or just as futile staying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italicised text taken directly from the show. In this case, episode 1 "The Killings at Badger's Drift"

**003\. Futile**

Tom sat back in his chair as an unsettled weight housed itself in his chest. He considered the man sitting across the pub table, through the mellow blur of a couple of pints; this man that over the years had been his Sergeant, his friend and an implicitly trusted confidant.

The unsettling feeling however, had little to do with these facts. Instead, it was completely self-reflective. A personal critique. Thinking about the five years of their partnership, the highs and lows, Tom was unable to stop questioning if he’d done the right thing or if it was really just a lesson in futility.

***

He was forty-eight years old when Gavin Troy walked into his life. Tom and Joyce were well settled into middle age life, Cully was away at school, they had a nice home, lush garden, and a proper life in Causton. He was secure in his place as DCI and, not being one for politics, he never wanted to climb any higher. Apart from the county having the highest body count in the country, they also had an impressive rate of murders solved. Tom was, for all he knew before that fateful meeting, contented with his life.

Then DS Gavin Troy arrived.

Tom recalled the early autumn morning vividly. The tall, somewhat gangly, man strolled into the CID and announced himself to Tom as the new DS reporting for duty with a distinct Northern accent. Tom’s first thought was how impossibly young the man looked: in the grips of late-twenties masculine bravado, sure of himself, the world and his place. When Tom stood to meet him and offered his hand in greeting, he realized his mistake. The hand that grasped his was strong, but belied the surety that Tom had initially seen. Tom quickly re-assessed the younger man: It wasn’t bravado, it was eagerness and a way to mask the nerves. There was something else, at least there had been for Tom. When Gavin’s eyes snapped to his, holding his gaze with a slightly wide-eyed stare, Tom knew what it was: attraction. Tom smiled at him with a warmth that appeared to set the younger man at ease. And when they let go, something else settled between them as Gavin returned Tom’s smile with a sheepish one of his own.

Looking back at it Tom wondered if some unrealized silent conversation took place between those looks. If there had, it certainly wasn't anything that could have been understood at the time, but there was something that passed between them. A something that had remained unspoken.

Tom remembered that as he concluded his welcome to Troy and introduced him to the team, he tried desperately to ignore the odd warmth the meeting had left him with. Not because it was unwelcome, but because it was distinctly similar to what he'd felt during the early days of courting Joyce. The one where every glance and touch made him feel like the luckiest person in the world.

Tom had never explicitly acknowledged that his attraction to others had less to do with their sex or gender than personality and reciprocation. It was a side of his emotional life that in meeting Joyce, when he was still quite young, had ceased to matter. This magnetism to Troy made him acknowledge it and, though it didn't shock him in that respect, he'd never met a man that registered the depths of attraction he was feeling.

It was that feeling that, now,  made him consider that perhaps being contented with his life just wasn't enough.

Tom carefully sipped his pint. They’d seen so many years together since that first meeting, but it was still there. Except, Tom could put a number of words to it now: a deep loyalty, protectiveness, respect and, ultimately, love.

When he caught the Sergeant’s eyes, across the table, Tom knew Troy felt it all too; was even, perhaps, thinking about the same moments he was. Troy gave him a flash of a smile. Meeting Gavin Troy had made an entire future open for Tom with a hand of possibilities he just needed to grasp, but there was a certain futility in the discovery. There could be only one course of action, or, as it were, lack of.

Tom recognized immediately that the thing between the two of them, whatever it was, was to remain unfulfilled. He was settled in his life with Joyce and his family, he had his duty to fulfill. He would do what he had to. Tom loved his wife. Troy could only ever be his DS, and maybe friend, but nothing more.

Their first major case together had even given him the perfect fodder to distance himself. Tom expertly used Troy’s rougher points as a way to shield himself against his feelings, but at the expense of being cruel at times. The killings at Badger’s Drift showcased both Troy’s inexperience, naivety and bigotry, and Tom had latched on to them as a life line. It gave him the perfect out when Joyce began to ask questions.

He could cite verbatim Joyce’s curiosity about the new Sergeant, and his own reply:

“ _Was that Sergeant Troy just now?_ ”  Joyce asked as Tom returned to the kitchen from taking the call.

“ _Yes,_ ” He hadn't told Joyce about their first meeting in any detail. Only the mention of a name, that he'd come from the north, but had spent his later years in Causton. Nothing that would show any untoward interest in the young man.

“ _I'd like to meet him one day._ ”

“ _No, you wouldn't._ ” Tom had said, and in a way he meant it. If she'd have asked why, he would have told her how he'd treated the undertaker. It hid the guilt he was feeling well enough despite the futility of keeping Troy out of his home life. Tom knew Joyce too well. She would invite Troy into their fold, which was fantastic, but it also meant that Tom would have to share him.

***

Tom snapped out of his revery when Troy asked him if he wanted another pint. He declined before finishing his off.

“Work, tomorrow.” Tom said. Gavin nodded his understanding and took both glassed to the bar. Tom slide on his jacket and stepped outside, standing just over the threshold to wait for Gavin.

When Gavin joined him, prepared to leave for his flat, they stood side by side overlooking the relatively deserted streets with the watchful gaze of two detectives attuned to even the most minute traces of wrongdoing. It was the lense that they could share with each other, even if they could not share anything else.

“Good job today, Troy.” Tom said softly grasping the other man’s arm for a moment. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”  Gavin said wavering slightly when the warm hand left his body. “Good night.”

Tom watched him for a moment as Gavin strolled toward his flat before turning the opposite direction and beginning his own walk home. It was once more with the feeling of having walked away from another future. It was the same each day. And still, he questioned whether it was futile to keep walking away, fulfilling his duty to Joyce and Cully, or whether it would be just as futile to follow that other future with the younger man walking toward his flat.


	4. Erratic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Gavin’s freak out on the roof in the episode “Market for Murder”.

**004\. Erratic**

Gavin’s breath hitched again. 

Grabbing the steering wheel with all his might, knuckles white, he tried to take another breath, but they were not coming easily. He couldn’t remember how to do it. Why had he been the one to interview the woman on the roof? How did he make it back to the car? His knees still felt week. 

Inhale. 

There, he managed it. 

Exhale. 

Progress.

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale,inhaleexhalinhalexhale.

The edges of Gavin’s vision began to collapse. Tunnel vision focused narrowly on the man emerging from the house, first at a leisurely pace then more quickly. Gavin couldn’t stave off the erratic breaths any longer. He was going to die like this, in his car, from nothing but a scare. His chest ached and colour seeped out of his vision as darkness descended. Was he starved for oxygen? Was this how it worked?

Gavin slumped to the right and limply hung out of the car.

“Troy! Troy!” Hands were grabbing him and laying him down on the gravel. Gavin was still surprised to be able to feel anything. It was all happening as if he were watching it from somewhere else. Until a hand, heavy and warm lay on his chest. “Troy, Gavin, listen to my voice. You’re okay. Stay with my voice.

Colour began to seep into his vision again. He could see blue eyes first, overexposed and white all around. The hand on his chest moved in soothing circles.

“Sorry, sir.” Gavin said, though his voice was barely a whisper. “Won’t happen again.”


	5. Loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joyce watches her husband and sees something that makes her curious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post "Blood will out".

**005 Loved**

Joyce watched her husband more closely the days following their failed shopping excursion. She was, of course, always watchful because of the nature of his work; as a detective, and Midsomer being Midsomer, it was easy for her to imagine ways something bad could happen. But now that they were working on his health, the small weight dilemma was something she has means of control over and that she could observe more than just watch. 

Joyce was determined to treat this with a direct plan of attack. So, calling in the troops, Cully and Gavin, had been easy enough. The campaign was sure to go swimmingly; and it did. Tom slimmed down over the course of a few weeks and things were back to normal. Except, Joyce found herself still watching more vigilantly than before.

There was something else that kept her watching, she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She didn’t feel neglected, or that Tom was paying any less attention to her, or slacking in any of his commitments, but there was  _ something _ .

Then they moved. 

A little closer to town, and Tom was home more, for his tea or quick lunch, often with Gavin, and soon she was able to watch more closely in these situations. Cully and Gavin talking in the kitchen during their morning breakfasts while Tom watched on interrupting here and there until they had to go. Tom would bodily steer Gavin out of the kitchen and toward the car.

Then one night after a good evening with Gavin and Cully both around, Tom walked Gavin out to the street to began his walk home.

Joyce stood at the front window sipping the last of her wine, watching Tom and Gavin head toward the road. Then she saw it. A couple of ghosting touches across Gavin’s arm, and a glance down at his shoes before Tom plunged his hands into his pockets. She knew that move. It was when Tom thought himself being extra cute or funny, but Joyce had only ever seen it directed at her. She knew that look intimately.

It was a look of love.

Joyce turned from scene, feeling like a voyeur. She went into the kitchen and washed her wine glass, setting it to dry in the rack. Staring out into the dark garden while going through the motions. She thought that she was supposed to feel angry, or betrayed, and yet, none of those were descriptive of what she was feeling. Instead, she just felt curious.

Tom doted on her, constantly. When Cully had gone through a few rough teenage years Joyce had carried her through them very much alone. With Tom making his way up in the force, it was difficult for him to be there for support. But somewhere along the line Tom had realized the kinds of sacrifices she’d had to make, for both of them. Since then, he’d been attentive in a way that came only with the wisdom of middle-age. None of that had changed, but obviously something had for Tom.

She never considered that Tom may have been attracted to men as well. Gavin was a good looking man, that wasn’t difficult to see, but there was something about what she’d witnessed that suggested the physical had little to do with it. Or if it had anything to do with it. Joyce wondered if it were possible for a man to love two people, two vastly different people, and still be happy. Or, be happy with only one of them. And what about Gavin? Did he feel the same? Joyce hadn't noticed. She didn't know Gavin as well, but can't imagine any of the softer feelings being an easy thing for the man to show.

Was she supposed to dislike Gavin now? Joyce didn't see how she could. If someone gave her husband a similar simply happiness that she did, she certainly couldn't fault them for it. After all, she couldn't be expected to provide whatever it was that Gavin gave Tom as well.

“Joyce? You look a million miles away.” Tom walked up and held her in his arms with a quick kiss to the cheek.

Joyce smiled at him, returning the embrace. “I was just thinking how lovely it is to have Gavin around.”

“He’s alright.” Tom kissed her again, letting go and beginning to dry the dishes. 

Tom's non-committal response confused Joyce as she  began watching him once again. There was no air of guilt or shame about Tom, and it suddenly dawned on Joyce that Tom didn’t realize what was between him and Gavin. That Tom could be so clueless, made her love him more in that moment than ever before. She began putting the plates away and chatting to Tom about the latest Women’s Institute initiative, confident that when the time came, Tom would tell her about what Gavin meant to him.

Until then, she’d just have to keep watching and inviting Gavin over for dinner so she could figure it all out for them.


	6. Soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom realizes there are more to people than the facts of their lives.

**006\. Soft**

Tom held the small plush rabbit gently in his hands. It’s ear flopped lifelessly through his fingers as he crouched over the body. 

“Sorry I’m late, sir. I was...” Gavin trailed off when he saw the slight figure under the white sheet. 

Tom look up at his frozen sergeant. “Troy, we’ll start in the other room, with the father.” 

Tom got up, letting Dr. Bullard continue with his examination, and went to the doorway Troy was in the middle of, unmoving.

“Troy,”  Tom said. The only reply he got was a look of blank shock.

Tom physically ushered the sergeant out of the room and into the hall. “Is this going to be a problem, sergeant?”

“What? Oh, no, sir,” Troy said. “But, it’s just, I mean, she's so tiny.”

Tom heaved a sigh. They usually didn't get to him anymore, but Troy was right. She was so small, how could anyone... No. Tom knew he shouldn’t think about it, couldn’t think about it. 

There was a reason and it was ultimately going to seem as pointless as anything when they found it, but it was going to mean everything to the killer. That is how these things played out. It was utterly astounding and sickening that humans could sink so low.

Tom gripped Troy’s upper arm. “We've just the father to interview today. The mother died last spring. There's nothing more we can do tonight.”

“All right, sir.” Troy said and led the way to where PC Chandler was standing in a room with the father.

***

As Troy drove them back to the station, Tom turned the evidence they had over in his mind, but that was quickly exhausted and he considered his sergeant’s reaction to the case instead. Tom had never thought of Troy in connection with children before. He had little knowledge of Troy’s life when he began to think of it. 

Tom knew he was an only child, that he grew up with his mother here in Causton after moving from the North. But those were just facts; it was the man’s inner life he was trying to figure out. He had no idea if the man wanted to be a father. It had never crossed his mind to ask, not that it was any of his business. 

Tom suspected he would never ask because it's answer would mean something of more importance to him than he wanted it to. It could mean the possibility of this partnership being more personal, or the end of that altogether.

“She reminds me of my cousins daughter,” Troy said in the car. “How could anyone.... You don’t think the father had anything to do with it, do you sir? Oh, what a cold customer he was.”

“No, not the father, but he was definitely hiding something.”

Tom turned his mind back to the case, knowing he'd remain preoccupied by it until the case was solved.


	7. Hold

**007\. Hold**

Gavin woke with a start.

His body ridged, thrumming with fear, and poised for flight as if something was about to happen. Gavin lay there listening for long seconds, holding his breath waiting for it, but the only sounds around him were the common night sounds: the clock, Tom’s slow breathing, and the odd car driving past his flat. It had to have been the dream he was having, but he couldn’t remember any of it.

He reached out a hand and grasped at Tom’s forearm.

As he held onto this anchor, the same one that had been pitched to him in a storm of self doubt and loneliness, his eyes began adjusting to the dark. His brain slowly shook off the fog of sleep.

The fear and terror slipped away at ever warm pulse he felt under his palm.

Tom slept on, despite the vice-like grip, but he turned over, laying a hand on Gavin’s chest. Gavin’s grip lessened and release, and he took hold of the hand on his chest instead, slipping gradually back into sleep.


End file.
